


Passing the time

by Randomfandoms389



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dirty Talk, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, or an attempt at it, spadesverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomfandoms389/pseuds/Randomfandoms389
Summary: Sex in a carriage. That's it, that's the fic
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 109





	Passing the time

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't actually planning on writing more for this series, but y’all seemed to like Manners the other day and I am indeed a sucker for validation, so here have another one

“I’m booooored.”

No response. 

“Arthur?” 

Pointed silence.

“Arthuuuuuuuuuur.” If anything, his husband just sticks his nose further into his book. Alfred pouts, even if it’s kinda wasted when said husband won't even look at him. 

“Artie.” He pulls out the dreaded nickname, which gets him a slight twitch but not much else. Pity. Alfred was running out of ideas here. Arthur was really, really good at ignoring people, which was unfortunate because Alfred really, really hated being ignored. Especially when he was bored as hell and only had one person around to entertain him because they were both trapped in a carriage and home was a few hours away at least. Gods, Alfred _loathed_ travelling by carriage. Even the royal carriages, which were very nice and very posh, since all that didn't exactly keep Alfred from being utterly bored out of his mind. 

“Arthur. Hey. Art. Artieeeeeee.” 

He has to give credit where it’s due though; Arthur makes it through another twenty minutes of the progressively worsening nicknames and inane chatter that is Alfred’s attempt to weaponize his own annoyingness before cracking. 

“Oh, for-” Arthur snaps his book shut and looks up and _glares._ Success! Alfred suppresses a cheer. It was a very impressive glare, but a reaction was a reaction and at this point, Alfred would take what he could get. Even what he could get was a withering expression and a tone that could probably strip paint from the walls. “Alfred, I am trying to _read_ here.” 

“And _I,_ ” Alfred says back in his best imitation of Arthur’s snooty accent, matching his tone but not his severe expression (which wasn't his _real_ severe expression at all, Alfred can tell. This one was more exasperated and maybe-sorta-unwillingly-fond than anything.) He grins as he sticks his feet out to tangle their legs together before Arthur can escape to the other side of his bench. “Have been trying to get your attention for _ages.”_

Arthur further proves his lack of genuine annoyance but not simply kicking Alfred in the shin and scooting away. He just crosses his arms, raising one thick brow and letting the book dangle loosely from his fingers. “And now you have it,” he says, dry. “Do get to the point, love.” 

Ah-ha! Pet name. Exhibit two for _Arthur isn't really mad and I can prove it so there._

People always think that Arthur’s so serious and stuck up (which is an impression Alfred’s pretty sure his queen actively encourages), but he isn't really. Arthur can be really convincing but Alfred knows better by now. It’s a thing that happened sometime after the first thing he saw every morning became bleary green eyes and freckles and horrible, gravity-defying bedhead, and he learned how bitter tea tasted on his tongue over stolen kisses at the breakfast table and most of all, when he discovered many ways (and how _loud_ ) Arthur could swear when he ran out of tea or stubbed his toe or had Francis come over for a visit. 

Arthur’s ridiculous and adorable and has possibly-borderline-unhealthy anti-social tendencies and Alfred fucking loves him so much it hurts. However, that forbidding expression he always put on to scare away annoying courtiers and pompous lords was… sometimes unfortunate for other reasons. 

Namely, because it always made Alfred want to kiss away the seemingly unamused twist of the pale lips he knows intimately are every bit as soft as they look. He knows some people might've said that they were too thin to really be attractive (if they believed Alfred wasn't in earshot, that is) but Alfred quite liked Arthur’s lips. They inspired the kind of thoughts that would made Arthur, had he known of them, snort and pronounce him hopelessly juvenile, but Alfred couldn't help it. 

It had been quite a while, after all, with how busy they’d both been on this visit to Hearts. They had shared a room, yes, but always returned to it too late to really make use of it. Besides, Arthur had spent most of the past week in Kiku’s company and Alfred quite missed the taste of his queen’s lips beyond the brief pecks that he’d been afforded on the occasions that they crossed paths.

Arthur’s still looking at him, head cocked and expression growing slightly more impatient for every second that Alfred doesn't reply because he’s too busy thinking about how pale and pretty Arthur looked in the relative dimness of their carriage with the curtains drawn, as impeccably dressed as ever and looking all prim and proper in the way that always makes Alfred want to mess him up a little. Not much, really, just enough to leave him pink-cheeked and rumpled and flustered, get him all hot and bothered enough that the decorous little omega act falls away. Dangerous thoughts. Alfred refocuses when Arthur clears his throat pointedly.

“Alfred.” His queen’s tapping long, slim fingers against the spine of his book in a clear demand to _hurry up and spit it out, already._ Alfred wonders idly if Arthur can tell what he’s thinking of. Probably not, or he wouldn't be sitting there with such a straight face.

Hmm. Alfred hadn't really planned on this when he’d first started bothering Arthur. He’d just been bored, that was all. But what to do next seemed perfectly obvious when he thinks of the long carriage ride ahead and all the things they might occupy themselves with if only Arthur would allow himself to be convinced. (He would. Alfred could be very persuasive when he wanted.)

Arthur’s eyes narrow when Alfred smiles (or smirks, he’s not too sure which himself) but doesn't move away or immediately retreat behind his book. “Your point,” he says again, prompting, tone heavy with suspicion. 

“This,” Alfred says simply and then leans over and kisses him.

* * *

_“Alfred… r-right there, yes!”_

Arthur doesn't come along without a fight, of course. He wouldn't be Arthur if he had. He’d smacked Alfred quite soundly upside the head with his book at first, blushing and spluttering cutely and saying things like _now see here_ and _Alfred, we’re practically in public,_ _this is highly improper_ that kinda just turned Alfred on even more. 

Arthur hadn't even hit that hard anyway and he’d barely struggled when Alfred had wrapped a hand around his wrist to stop him, which meant that secretly, he _did_ want to be kissed and held and crowded back into a corner of the carriage and kissed some more. Kissed and kissed until they were both breathless and Arthur had dropped his book in favour of wrapping his arms around Alfred’s neck and pulling him even closer. 

And well, one thing had led to another and now he’s gasping and writhing in Alfred’s lap, fingers digging into Alfred’s shoulders as he rolls his hips and presses down and takes Alfred’s cock to the hilt like he was made for it. He’s lost his trousers somewhere, somehow and his coat is now pooled messily around his elbows, probably getting hopelessly wrinkled. Alfred doesn't particularly care. He’s mostly sure he hadn't ripped the damned things taking them off Arthur and that was good enough. He didn't want carriage sex to be a one-time thing, after all, and Arthur would absolutely refuse to let Alfred so much as touch him next time if Alfred had really ruined his clothes.

With that in mind, Alfred mouths at his pale throat, at what little bit of skin is available above the high collar of Arthur’s shirt and carefully refrains from tearing the damned thing wide open. _Stupid fucking buttons… for god’s sake, why are there so_ many _of them-_

He bites down, a bit harder than he’d really meant to in his impatience, and Arthur makes a sharp sound that is almost but not quite a moan, half-arousal and half-reproach even as his hips jerk against Alfred’s and betray which he's really feeling.

“Don't, you’ll… Alfred, you're going to leave marks.” 

But he’s not protesting, not really. Hell, Arthur’s even tilting his head back a little, baring even more of his pretty throat for Alfred to kiss and bite at. So he does and Arthur makes that little sound again, fingers twisting in Alfred’s shirt. 

“You like it though,” Alfred says against his skin, almost a purr, because Arthur’s fucking hot when he tries acting all proper with Alfred’s cock up his ass and Alfred’s hands all over him. He twitches when Alfred licks up his neck and then blows lightly on his ear, pressing in close to breathe into it, “You like when I mark you up, don't you, sweetheart? Leave little bruises and lovebites all over you… on your neck, your thighs, hell, even this tight little ass-” 

The damned shirt-collar has finally been peeled away and now Alfred gets to rake his teeth over the mating mark on Arthur’s neck that it had covered up so neatly. It makes Arthur hiss out a breath through clenched teeth, body shuddering and tightening up almost involuntarily around Alfred’s cock. God, Alfred wanted to pin him down and fuck him senseless, force out every single one of the desperate moans Arthur’s clearly holding back so the coachman wouldn't hear.

Which reminded Alfred, really. He rubs his thumbs over the little dips in Arthur’s hipbones, gripping a bit tighter as Arthur pushes up to his knees and then sinks down again, fucking himself on Alfred’s cock. He’s eager; it’s obvious even with the lip service he’s sprouting, telling Alfred off for even _thinking_ of doing something like this - _in broad daylight, in a moving carriage, no less, you deviant of an alpha-_

“And what about you?” Alfred challenges, heat and lust and the spine-tingling knowledge of the _risk_ they're both taking almost electric under his skin. There's just the constant awareness that they could be discovered at any point; an errant moan alerting the coachman of their activities, any member of their entourage calling for a break to stretch their legs and coming over to collect them, only to discover them tangled up like this. It’d be a scandal; the king and queen themselves caught in such a compromising position. Yao would murder them. Matthew would tease them mercilessly. Their entire court of shameless gossip mongers would probably titter over this for months. 

Somehow, the thrill makes it even _better._

Alfred drags Arthur forward roughly and kisses him hard, fucks that hypocritical mouth with his tongue like it isn't enough to already be buried balls-deep inside all that heat and wetness. It’s sloppy and aggressive; Arthur lets him in but fights him for control, sucking on Alfred’s tongue and then biting at it hard enough to sting, only to gasp and jerk back when Alfred slaps him hard on the ass. His whole body jolts with the force of it and Alfred only has half a second to worry about the smack of skin on skin being too loud before Arthur’s moaning and rocking forward to crush their mouths together again. 

They kiss like this, harsh and wet and needy for long enough that there's a thin trail of spit connecting their mouths when they part for breath, both panting heavily. Alfred feels lightheaded, his lips stinging and swollen. Arthur looks almost dazed, face flushed and lips wet and reddened. His hair was a mess. _Gotta remember to fix that later,_ Alfred thinks distractedly because even Arthur’s hair wasn't normally that untidy and he didn't think his queen _actually_ wanted their sex life to be a hot topic of discussion before his attention is drawn to the leaking cock pinned between their bodies as Arthur moans and grinds against him. 

It’s almost instinct to wrap a hand around it, to pump and stroke it just the way Arthur likes and make his queen squirm and whine, pushing his hips into Alfred’s fist. But then he remembers what he’d been about to say earlier, before that brain-meltingly hot kiss; the little suspicion he’d had about just _why_ Arthur was going along so enthusiastically with all this. 

Just to test his theory, he tightens his grip on Arthur’s cock, slides his hand up the shaft so he can thumb at the swollen head, angle his nails just enough to scrape _agonisingly_ along the sensitive flesh _(Arthur liked that, liked a little pain to go with his pleasure and Alfred’s gotten pretty good at knowing which he wanted and when)_ and feels Arthur’s whole body go rigid, his back arching and the short scream he barely manages to muffle in Alfred’s shoulder sounding like it’d been torn from his throat.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Alfred says into the warm curve of Arthur’s neck, soft and sweet; playing at innocence even as he plays with that pretty cock, lips curling at the small whimper it forces from Arthur. He bites down hard, snaps his hips up at the same time, and Arthur actually has to clamp a hand over his own mouth to muffle his cries, his head falling back and those green eyes slipping shut. 

_“A-ahh…Alfred!”_

It’s a damned hell of a view, but Alfred’s not so far gone that he can't tell it’s a bit, well… _much_ \- Arthur doesn't usually let himself break down that much this early in the game and so Alfred is starting to think his little hunch might actually be right. 

“You're awfully noisy today,” he observes, stroking lazily and drinking in the pure _pleasure_ evident on Arthur’s normally stern features, in his hazy, half-closed eyes and pink cheeks and his open, panting mouth. _Even more proof,_ Alfred thinks, in whichever part of his brain that is still capable of coherent thought, because Arthur liked to play hard to get, teasing and taunting and offering the barest glimpse of what Alfred wanted only to take it away and just being so fucking _coy_ that it sometimes drove Alfred mad.

And he was so fucking proud too; Arthur didn't moan for him easily, didn't cry out his name like this, so rough and gasping and needy, unless Alfred had been working on him for hours and hours and _hours._ And even then, he hardly ever managed to push Arthur to this state outside of heat, which didn't count, not really. In his right mind, Arthur always made Alfred work for it, for every stifled gasp and whine and shift of his hips, which is why his current desperation is so obviously out of character. There was something else at play here and Alfred thinks, with a shiver of _sensation_ that goes straight to his cock, that he knows what it is. 

He doesn't kiss Arthur, just leans back and watches as his queen goes on rocking his hips and grinding down and moaning now and then as if he’d managed to angle himself just right to stimulate his prostate. Alfred’s barely been participating, really, mind busy working furiously. Arthur’s doing most of the work here and cursing Alfred out for it. (Heh, and people thought Arthur was so polite and proper. He was worse than Alfred once he really got going.) 

And that’s exactly why it catches him by surprise when Alfred abruptly snaps his hips up, timing it just as Arthur’s starting to sink down so his cock is shoved even _deeper_ and Arthur jerks and spasms around him, letting out a strangled moan that’s so fucking _loud_ even with the hand over his mouth that their coachman actually calls out to them from his seat outside.

“Your majesties? Is everything all right?”

Arthur stiffens immediately, eyes widening and that mouth snapping shut as if it would take back the damage is already done. He looks almost panicked but his scent says otherwise, spiking and thickening so much that Alfred feels like he could get drunk on it, on the honeyed sweetness of omega arousal in such close confines. It’s exactly the reaction that Alfred had wanted, of course, and he forces that trembling hand away from Arthur’s mouth just so he can see the look on that pretty face as he calls back, a little breathlessly, “Everything’s fine. Keep driving, please.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

The coachman probably doesn't believe him. But then again, Alfred doesn't really care about that right now. It’s almost perfectly silent for the next few seconds, as Arthur stares at him and Alfred stares right back, letting one corner of his mouth tilt up in a crooked smile. He’s unrepentant and Arthur must be able to tell, because his queen hisses at him, sweat shining on his brow and face drawn with strain.

“You did that on purpose,” he accuses, gasping a little as Alfred gives a leisurely thrust of his hips. “S-stop that!”

He moans -quietly- when Alfred reminds him of the hand around his cock by squeezing; just once, lightly. A challenge. _What’re you gonna do about it?_

“A-Alfred! I said-!”

“I heard,” Alfred says, easily holding his hand away when Arthur tries to cover his mouth again, letting go of his cock to catch the other just to be thorough, before Arthur can even think to try and use it instead. “Not gonna stop.”

“You- _ngh!_ ”

“Should I gag you?” Alfred muses, pleased when the idle question makes Arthur suck in a breath, fresh colour flooding his face. He’s gone tight again, squeezing his knees against Alfred’s hips and his body around Alfred’s cock. Alfred bucks into him, being almost gentle about it, and feels Arthur shudder, biting down on his own lip. “You’re starting to look like you need it, sweetheart.”

“I won't if you stopped d-doing _…_ oh, _f-fuck…”_

He’d actually made Arthur swear. Alfred is ridiculously pleased by this, leaning forward to drag his tongue over Arthur’s collarbone, sucking on the little hollow at the base of his throat. It makes Arthur shiver deliciously, stuttering when he tries to speak again. 

“A-Alfred! Have you gone mad?” He’s trembling all over, face so _very_ red and lashes fluttering as Alfred pushes into him again, hips rocking, pressing in slow and hard and _deep._ “They’ll hear-”

“Yeah? And so what?”

“So-!”

Arthur’s trying for scandalised, Alfred thinks, almost amused. Outrage and affront, as if whatever expression he puts on doesn't lose all power with him gasping and writhing in Alfred's lap and visibly falling apart as he’s fucked. 

“So what, Arthur? They’ll hear us and then _what?”_ Alfred goads, smirking as Arthur squirms at the very thought, tugging weakly at Alfred’s hands around his wrists. “They’ll come in, of course, won't they, with you being so fucking loud? They’ll find us like this -you riding my cock, me touching you here and _here-”_

He lets go of Arthur’s wrists, reaches around instead so he can put his hands on that perfect ass, cupping and kneading firmly at the flesh and dragging even more of those enticing sounds out of his queen. Alfred spreads him for good measure; pulls those cheeks apart and touches a fingertip to where Arthur’s stretched so obscenely around his cock. “Gods, you’re so fucking wet right now, darlin’, bet you’d be dripping all over yourself if I didn't have my cock in you, plugging you up nice and tight-”

The soft skin around Arthur’s entrance is wet with slick and Alfred rubs lightly at it, pressing teasingly like he's going to push his fingers inside next and stuff his queen so fucking full he wouldn't be able to sit properly for a week.

Arthur makes a choked sound, body spasming and his back arching so sharply that he almost falls off Alfred’s lap. His pupils are blown, eyes wide and unfocused and it’s gotten so fucking hot in here that Alfred can barely breathe around his own lust. But there's so much more to say that couldn't wait, not at all; it had to be _now_ or Arthur would retreat behind his perfectly controlled mask again and deny his own body’s reactions until the next time Alfred managed to drag him off and fuck him stupid in another goddamned carriage or something.

“You really _do_ get off on this,” Alfred says, not quite accusing, no; his tone is probably too pleased for that, watching carefully. And Arthur’s reaction only confirms it; his scent spikes _(_ a complicated mix of _surprise-embarrassment-arousal)_ and the blush painted so prettily across his fair skin only deepening as he struggles to gasp out a reply. 

“I-I don't know what you're… oh, _gods-_ ” 

Alfred kisses him again, just to shut him up because that was an honestly pathetic attempt at denial. It’s brief, just a quick clash of lips and teeth and tongue as Alfred licks into Arthur’s mouth right as it falls open for a stuttered moan. Then, it’s off to trail soft, sloppy kisses along Arthur’s jaw, pausing right by his ear again to whisper, “Liar.”

He doesn't give Arthur a chance to protest; just grabs him tight and crashes their hips together and whatever Arthur had been about to say is lost in a moan. He kisses Arthur’s mark again, dipping down to nip at his collarbone. “Wanna try again, sweetheart? Or are you gonna pretend some more that you don't like being fucked in a place like this?”

It’s even hotter to watch Arthur squirm as he talks, expression caught somewhere between mindless arousal and utter mortification, even as he bites down on his own knuckles to stifle his cries. Alfred presses on, groping for more to say, anything to prolong the experience. “Does it turn you on? Knowing that we could get caught at any time, having to hide all your pretty little sounds when we both know you’d be moaning and clawing for my cock if we were back home in our bed?”

A low whine is Arthur’s only response, his muscles clenching and relaxing and fluttering erratically around Alfred’s cock as he’s fucked. He’s gone all limp and shivery, just letting himself be moved, letting Alfred hold him tight enough to bruise and physically pick him up and drag him back down and push even deeper into him. 

“Or maybe you _want_ to be caught,” Alfred purrs, relentless. “What about that, huh? Wanna have someone walk in on us like this? Maybe next time I’ll pick somewhere even _more_ exposed- the throne room… gods, I'd have you on your hands and knees, pound you into the ground right in front of everyone. Maybe the courtyard, behind those damned rosebushes you love so much. A corridor too, right where anyone can see… show you off a little, let everyone see how good you look with my cock up your tight little ass. How good you sound when I kiss you and touch you and make you come so fucking hard you _scream-”_

Arthur lets out a harsh, gorgeous moan at this. He sounded wrecked. He _looked_ wrecked, almost feverish with his heavily flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. They're both close already, so fucking close to the edge, but Alfred isn't done yet. He nuzzles into Arthur’s neck, licking at the mating mark again and almost humming in delight as he goes on, “Really didn't think you were the type though, with the way you like to act. All prim and proper and prissy, like you don't gasp and moan so sweetly for me whenever I bend you over and work you open and fuck you raw-”

Alfred breaks off there, because Arthur’s tensing and shifting and arching and his mouth is falling open in the way it always does whenever he’s about to come and Alfred wants to watch as he does, take in every single flicker of pleasure that crosses that stunning face.

Ironically enough, Arthur’s almost silent when he comes; there's just a sharp intake of breath and the faintest little whimper and then his body is going lax against Alfred’s as hot come splurts over them both. Alfred kisses him through it, just to be kind, and keeps fucking into that warm, pliant body until he finishes too, Arthur whimpering a little, deep in his throat, as Alfred’s knot actually starts to swell before biology gets in the way and reminds it that _this isn't heat, down boy._

“...So,” Alfred says after a few minutes of them just panting and clinging to each other. “That. That was… something.”

Arthur is quiet for a few more minutes, face hidden in the crook of Alfred’s neck. And then for a few minutes after that, until Alfred’s starting to think that he’s fallen asleep or just isn't going to reply at all.

Then - “Oh, fuck you,” Arthur says in such an exhausted tone that Alfred actually giggles, feeling more than a little loopy. The carriage sways a little, like they’d just hit a bump in the road and Alfred sways with it, hugging Arthur to his chest and slumping back a little, feeling his own eyelids flutter tiredly. 

“S’good though? For you?”

“Perhaps,” Arthur says noncommittally after a pause, voice almost disappointingly steady again, but the small tremor in his hands as they tangle themselves in Alfred’s shirt is telling enough even without the clear evidence of Arthur’s enjoyment of this little interlude cooling on his skin. 

“Mhm. You liked it,” Alfred decides for him, ignoring Arthur’s little huff against his neck. He nuzzles the sweat-damp hair by his cheek and shifts so they're half-sprawled over the entire length of the bench with their legs hanging off the side and Arthur still on top of him. “I liked it too. We’ll hafta do this again sometime, darlin’.”

Arthur mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _absolutely not_ into his collarbone but Alfred pretends not to hear.

It only made sense really, to have sex in carriages, because what else were you gonna do? It was _efficient,_ that’s what it was. Making Good Use of Time. Arthur was always all for boring stuff like that. And Alfred… well, Alfred was more interested in how he could make Arthur moan the way he had earlier again, so sweet and desperate and wanting. It was win-win, really.

Also, he was now no longer bored. And he had a pile of warm, sleepy, sated omega on his chest. _Very_ much a win-win.

Yeah, there was definitely going to be more carriage sex in the future. Alfred would make sure of it. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Poor Arthur, with a handsome man wanting to have sex with him at all hours of the day and in all sorts of places. 
> 
> Poor, poor Arthur. 
> 
> Also, the fact that they’re returning from a visit with Kiku may or may not be relevant in the next instalment, depending on whether I can bully my brain into writing a certain idea I had ;)


End file.
